


say it again

by loveandpride1895



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Gen, Happy Ending, Hot Space era ish, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, Mental Health Issues, Non-Explicit Actual Homophobia, Rog and John are in it for about a line each, bit of artistic license with the timeline if you're feeling pedantic, bri wants things to stay the same and they are not, non-explicit drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-30
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2020-03-29 18:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19025257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandpride1895/pseuds/loveandpride1895
Summary: Freddie changes, the world changes and Brian finds it difficult to cope.-"He stops halfway through a sentence when he realises that the Freddie he's talking to doesn't exist anymore.This new Freddie, the one with rivulets of crystal running up his nose and bloodshot eyes cowering behind large sunglasses doesn't prompt him to continue and Brian thinks that he might just whip the knitting needles out of the Red Special and use them to bind his lips together forever.”





	say it again

**Author's Note:**

> Yet another 'I wrote this ages ago, let's see what happens.'
> 
> Sorry if you're getting bored of my name popping up in the tag. Thank you if you're not getting bored!

It doesn't happen overnight.

It _couldn't_ have happened overnight.

But it wasn't incremental either.

He didn't take a pair of scissors to his hair in a dramatic fit of catharsis, or suddenly start singing two octaves lower, or wake up one morning with his shoulders set differently to accommodate his new magically acquired muscles.

He asked for an extra inch off every time he went for a haircut. He sang their songs for the venues they were playing and the venues they were playing were getting bigger and needed filling. He went to the gym and cut down on liquid lunches.

The progression into Freddie Mercury version 2.0 was gradual and inevitable.

Or at least... That's what everyone else seemed to think, Brian thought.

***

And all of a sudden, Brian begins to stick out like a sore thumb.

They get glossy copies of group photoshoots and there he is, a six-foot-two, more-leg-and-hair-than-person relic to a glam rock past long since buried by the real world.

Roger cuts his hair and John wears new found confidence to replace the jewellery and eyeliner he's abandoned.

Brian considers following suit and taking the hedge clippers to his hair.

For about five seconds.

Three.

One and a half.

***

Another night, another show, another crowd, another jeer.

A face in the front row, droopy mouth, sleepy eyes, alcoholic stench.

Brian inches his fingers down the neck of his guitar to adjust the volume _don't let him hear don't let him hear drown it out drown it out drown it out._ But Freddie motions for them all to stop and Brain feels foolish. It's Freddie, the man who can work a crowd like a skilled handmaid can a spinning wheel. Who's in tune with every reverberation, every shudder, every ordinarily imperceptible molecule of being in any venue he plays. He would have heard it if the man was in the fiftieth row.

Brian winces and feels Roger's inquiring gaze on the back of his neck. He determinedly doesn't look at him as he pictures the end.

" _I can't fucking do this anymore. I'm finished, we're finished."_

_Freddie flounces off stage, the crowd boos, Brian meets John's wide eyes. The crowd turns to a mob and descends upon them like a plague of locusts. And as Brian is being torn limb from limb beneath a cloak of soaring crescendo, he remembers despairingly that locusts were in fact just one of many plagues._

Freddie is strutting forwards, his eyes locked onto his taunter. He crouches down. Brian has a side view of the smirk ghosting across his lips.

"Say it again, darling."

The crowd explodes in excited delight, though what at they don't appear sure. Freddie said something sassy and that's good enough for them.

Brian tries to be relieved and he is, mostly.

Except for a half-remembered memory, saturated and curling at the edges, of a much younger Freddie, staring at himself in the bathroom mirror in the middle of the night when he thought everyone else was asleep.

Desensitising himself.

"[redacted]"

_Say it again._

"[redacted]"

_Say it again._

"[redacted]"

 _Sayitagainsayitagainsayitagain_.

***

There was a marked contrast, Brian thought, between that Freddie and this one.

That Freddie took his insecurities and tortured himself with them, until they had no power to hurt him anymore.

This Freddie grows a bushy moustache over them, until he can forget that they ever brought him down in the first place.

Neither can be healthy, surely.

Or maybe he's just reading too much into things.

( _Teeth, Brian. They're only teeth.)_

If it was up to him, Freddie wouldn't have any insecurities. He'd live like he pretends to, without a care in the world and brimming with confidence.

He could be his Freddie without the fear, without the baggage, without the need for validation.

Those things don't make him kind, those things don't make him generous, those things don't give him the depth of empathy that Brian needs more than he'd like to admit.

Or maybe he's just reading too much into things.

_(Teeth, Brian. They're only teeth.)_

_(Teeth and cocaine.)_

***

He and red are done for the day, apparently.

It's half-past nine in the morning.

Something tells him (bass lines, drum machines, synthesisers) that this may evolve into a bit of a recurring theme.

And then he feels it, the switch flips - two of them in fact - and numbness and despair start to battle for dominance in his chest. As he stands there, he can almost feel his beard beginning to grow, smell his hair beginning to reek, see his bones start to jut out from beneath his skin.

While his head is still above water ( _it's only reached his knees so far he's fine he's fine he's fine)_ he goes to Freddie - force of habit, he supposes - and begins a lament about how he's finding himself unable to fit into the world around him as it shifts.

He stops halfway through a sentence when he realises that the Freddie he's talking to doesn't exist anymore.

This new Freddie, the one with rivulets of crystal running up his nose and bloodshot eyes cowering behind large sunglasses doesn't prompt him to continue and Brian thinks that he might just whip the knitting needles out of the Red Special and use them to bind his lips together forever.

 _then the old lady would be broken and he'd have no voice at all_.

Because that's how it all started, whatever it has turned out to be. The guitar was his way of speaking, without having to use the vocabulary that was a little too close to the Encyclopaedia Britannica or the consonants that snagged and became muffled on the edges of his incisors.

When did it go from that to his whole world?

("You're throwing everything you've worked for away. You stupid, stupid boy.")

***

That night, Brian considers that if he were braver, he may have fallen in love with Freddie.

***

Two days later, Freddie plays him "Soul Brother" and he admits to himself that there's no "if he were braver" about it.

***

"I'm sorry I can't change. I tried."

(For about five seconds.

Three.

One and a half.)

Lines appear on Freddie's forehead and he removes his sunglasses. His frowning eyes are sober.

"Why on Earth would we want you to change?"

Brian gives him a 'take a look around you' look. Motions to the tape recorder which contains the almost finished "Hot Space." The tape is in no danger of wearing thin from overdubs this time.

"I don't... Fit."

Freddie's concerned face endures as he chuckles lowly.

"Since when have we cared about what 'fits.' Country song on a rock and roll record? You didn't feel out of place then, did you love. What's so different about having a rocker on the cover of a disco album?"

Brian doesn't expect Freddie to understand when he quietly says, "...you."

But a warm hand appears on his shoulder, thumb just brushing the nape of his neck.

"I'm still here. I'm not the same but... I'm the same."

Brian lifts his gaze and sees Freddie Mercury.

"Yeah. I'm beginning to see that now."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would mean the absolute world.
> 
> Have a lovely day!!
> 
> Say hi on tumblr if you like - also loveandpride1895


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